


Perfect Heat

by Salmoncollar



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, early brittana like s1 or 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmoncollar/pseuds/Salmoncollar
Summary: Let it be known: Santana’s the hottest bitch in this joint, and she’s having awesome hot sex with Puck all the time.
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Kudos: 31





	Perfect Heat

**Author's Note:**

> got high and felt soft so i wrote stream of consciousness Brittana. quick, messy, barely coherent character study full of loooooove. early early britanna, s2 or 1 or even earlier.

Santana’s sleeping with Puck. He’s a football stud, she’s a slamming hot Cheerio, and they fuck, like, all the time. They swap spit in the hallways, they grind at dances, they drunkenly slap meat, and they leave fat hickeys while doing it so everyone gets the pleasure of knowing what went down.

She’s also sleeping with Brittany. But that’s their business.

No one else needs to know how she retreats to the comfort of Brit’s bed at the end of most days. Or how they lay on top of her covers as Brittany lazily traces drawings of hearts and rainbows and unicorns along Santana’s figure. No one else needs to know how the moving warmth of her soft lady fingers on Santana’s bare skin spreads heat through her entire body and makes her feel like she’s literally glowing. How their foreheads knock together, and laughter mingles in the space between their lips. How Brit closes that gap, Santana lets her eyes flutter shut, and suddenly their mouths and bodies are moving together like it’s what they were made for. Or how the feather light touch of Brittany's fingertips then turns into something firmer, and she manages to expertly mold that warmth into perfect, perfect heat.

No one else brings heat like that. Not Puck, not any of the other football idiots, no one. Just Brit; she’s a genius like that. A perfect, gorgeous genius who has never and could never do anything wrong. Santana will scream it down the sweaty throats of every monkey-brained loser who has anything to say otherwise. The whole stinkin' world should know just how much Brittany's worth.

But this? The way she nuzzles her face into Brittany’s neck and wraps an arm around her torso when it’s all over, breathes her in like oxygen? And the way Santana's chest tightens when Brittany peppers kisses across her forehead and hums into her hair, and how they drift into sleep like that, warm and wrapped up in each other, and Santana dreams of clouds and kittens and Brit's legs and lips and hands and everything that's good?

That's her business. Only.


End file.
